


a thousand sweet kisses

by nafnaf



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Akechi Goro Lives, Fluff, Kissing, Multi, each chapter will center around goro + one of the thieves, some can be either platonic/romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-14 04:15:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14762420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nafnaf/pseuds/nafnaf
Summary: For his birthday, Goro Akechi receives a kiss from each of the Phantom Thieves.





	1. ryuji

**Author's Note:**

> so this is a post-canon au where goro lives and everyone has more or less made up w/ him so that this fic doesn't turn out any sadder than it needs to be. i don't ship all of these but i did my best to portray it well! (i only made goro and futaba's explicitly platonic because, well, i view them as having a sibling relationship)
> 
> again, some of these can be interpreted as being platonic or romantic, though there are a couple that have distinctly romantic undertones. in any case, i hope you enjoy!

It’s just past dawn when Goro’s phone pings with a new message from Ryuji, surely on his morning run by now. The bed is warm, soft, a welcome respite to his aching limbs, and the last thing he wants to do is abandon its comfort. But he’s clearly in over his head if he expects to escape Ryuji’s paws for the day, so, well, off to the park he goes.

Ryuji had made it his mission to string along the former detective on his daily jogs once Goro recovered enough from his coma; since then, Goro has accompanied him through foggy mornings, sweltering evenings, chilly nights. The weather doesn’t faze Ryuji, as his energy is too ardent to be burnt off indoors, and of course he has to allow Goro the privilege of experiencing the weather for himself because “it’s exhilarating, man, becoming one with the elements”.

Goro always ponders the effectiveness of this arrangement, especially now, when he can’t be bothered to leave his bed for more than one minute, but… it pleases him to know that it pleases Ryuji. The Thieves are hard-pressed to make sure Goro rehabilitates to their satisfaction, and he has no reason left in him to protest their will.

He throws on a lazy outfit knowing he’ll run into absolutely no one at this time of day and quickly exits his apartment, meeting with Ryuji at the lobby. Ryuji is already geared up, staring boredly at his phone, and when he hears Goro come in, he perks up and pockets his phone. And then promptly stops in his tracks. 

One look up and down his figure and Ryuji is twisting his features into a wince, mouth twitching like he’s thinking of something to say. What he settles for is far less eloquent than the effort warrants.

“Man, you look awful.”

Goro rolls his eyes, because he stopped caring about appearing presentable to the Thieves since his meltdown in Shido’s Palace. He plants one hand on his hip and approaches Ryuji with thinly-veiled distaste. “Should you expect anything less?” he mutters, trying to stop the fatigue from leaking into his voice. “It’s ass o'clock in the morning and you want me to look as I did when I was the Detective Prince… Truly, you expect too much of me.”

Ryuji huffs in embarrassment. “Well, whatever! You’re gonna liven up soon anyway. We’re doing five laps around the park today, no breaks.”

_“Five?”_

“How else are we gonna get some meat into those legs?” Ryuji gives a nudge to Goro’s shin for emphasis. True, Goro _did_ get thinner since December, but it was only because he’d been fucking _unconscious._ Though he does miss the muscle he built while bicycling as the Detective Prince. And getting into shape tends to improve the mood a little…

“Fine.” Goro grits his teeth, folding his arms across his chest. He’ll play along for now.

Ryuji seems happy about it, anyhow, giving a friendly clap to Goro’s back which… he really only does when Goro chokes on his water. Together they embark for the park nearest to Goro’s complex, empty at this time of day save for an old couple practicing yoga. By now, it’s routine to place their things at a nearby bench, warm up with a few stretches—lunges, hip circles, the whole shebang. Then they line up at the large oak tree where Ryuji usually sets the timer and finishes his runs a whole two laps earlier than Goro.

It’s humiliating, coming to terms with his own weakness, but it’s a truth that couldn’t be concealed even with his usual dollop of deception. There’s a kind of comfort in knowing he has no reason to hide. He can whine to Ryuji about throbbing ankles and sore calves without feeling the need to cover up every hint of discomfort that slips through, a natural instinct he once had during his pursuit of perfection.

To have freedom where he’s never had it… Well, the sensation is odd, to say the least.

“Getting tired, aren’t ya?” Ryuji asks once Goro is on his third lap, the former already on his fifth. Goro resists the urge to hiss at him, flashing a glittering smile instead, and Ryuji just snickers under his breath. Once again, he pushes on ahead.

The park is just starting to get populated by the time Ryuji and Goro finish, the latter drenched from head-to-toe in sweat. He chugs down his third water before joining Ryuji at the bench, accepting the sandwich they’d ordered at the onset. It’s no longer warm and yet it’s godsend when Goro’s probably shedded ten pounds just by jogging alone.

“So, what’re you gonna do once you get home?” Ryuji’s tone is conversational, but there’s a note of insistence in it, some kind of implication that Goro doesn’t get. He furrows his brows as he attempts to fully process the sentence.

“Take a nap, I suppose? You _did_ wake me up at an ungodly hour this morning.”

At that, Ryuji recoils onto the other side of the bench. “ _What?”_ he blurts, eyes wide with shock. “Doing nothing on your frickin’ _birthday?_ ”

“… My what?”

“Oh my god.” Ryuji flattens a palm against his forehead. “I’m friends with a birdbrain.”

“A birdbrain.”

“Yeah, a birdbrain. And I thought crows _never_ forget important shit like that.”

Goro doesn’t grace that with a response, still taken aback that Ryuji had referred to him as a friend at all (Goro doesn’t call them friends, not yet, he doesn’t deserve it—) but with a moment’s pause he unearths the answer he’d been so desperately foraging for:

“Ah—today is my birthday.”

Ryuji snorts, incredulity lining his tone when he remarks, “Yeah, I said as much!”

Goro shakes his head, disbelieving, his fingers combing through sweaty hair. “How odd… It nearly slipped my mind entirely. Though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. What with how you practically _dragged_ me out of my bed at the hour of the undead, I wouldn’t put it past me to forget a detail of that nature.”

Ryuji seems like he wants to protest, probably with something like “that’s not an excuse”, but he just clicks his tongue. “Does that mean you’ve got something in mind for later?”

Still yet, Goro shakes his head. “I don’t usually celebrate my birthdays.”

“You don’t—huh?”

Goro folds his hands on his lap, sandwich completely forgotten on the bench as he carefully picks his next words. Every time he shares a detail of his unfortunately loveless past, he manages to attract the pitying looks of the Thieves, and he _hates_ that. “No one has ever valued my birth. Not my mother, though she would buy me a slice of cake for my birthday while she was alive. Certainly not my father, and my foster homes were… too preoccupied to notice the date on the calendar. I’d get a greeting at best. It’s not important to me now. Birthdays are simply days like any other, nothing to hold a grand feast over.”

Something about his speech doesn’t bode well with Ryuji, as his face contorts in a grimace charged with so much indignity that Goro is startled to see it. He must have not phrased his experiences delicately enough, not if Ryuji has to make an expression like that.

“Sakamoto?” he calls to him, tentatively.

No response comes for a moment. And then Ryuji huffs out a breath, ruffling his hair in an unexpected bout of frustration. “Man, don’t look so sorry, okay? I’m just—this is ringing a bell for me. My mother…”

“Your mother?”

“My mother and I were the only ones who celebrated my birthday,” he grumbles out, begrudging in his admittance, like telling Goro this means exposing a vulnerability. “At least, until I met the Thieves. I’m used to hating birthdays, okay? But you got us now. Me, Ren, Ann…”

Goro frowns. “I don’t understand how that changes anything.” Birthdays will still be meaningless, and nothing will make him prefer eating out to staying at home and curling under the blankets, more secure than he could ever be anywhere else. At least, he believes as much. Ryuji, though, is unimpressed. He nudges Goro once on the rib, expression chastising.

“Don’t you have fun hanging out with us? Maybe birthdays aren’t special to you, okay, whatever. But you can _make_ them special. Do a little something extra. You get presents, right? That kinda treatment really makes the notion believable.”

Another sad shake of the head. “I hadn’t told anyone of my birthday until Ann sapped it out of me. Didn’t want to receive presents from people I didn’t care about.”

“And now?”

“Presents, now? No, I don’t deserve them,” Goro insists, no trace of hesitation in his body.

Ryuji is silent for another long, tense moment—and then his face flushes with a renewed vigor. He turns in his seat to fully face Goro: “Close your eyes.”

Goro tilts his head to the side, questioning. “What?”

“Just do it!”

Perplexed, but otherwise indifferent, Goro does as he’s told and searches with his senses for the impending stimulus (a slap on the cheek? hands on his throat? an absence of the presence beside him?) but what he does not expect is large, calloused fingers cradling his cheeks.

A second passes where nothing happens. And then, Ryuji kisses him.

Goro’s first instinct is to hold his breath. He’s frozen, still trying to register that those are _Ryuji’s_ lips on his, chapped from the wind of their run but nevertheless _warm,_ soft, and Goro is no longer in control of his hands. They find purchase on Ryuji’s shoulders, clutching as he leans slightly into the kiss, and suddenly it’s over as quickly as it had started.

When Goro finally pries his eyes open, Ryuji’s face is aflame. “There,” he breathes out, voice a nervous hiss that only further attests to the reality of what just happened. “Your first birthday gift.”

Goro blinks. And then again, this time slower. “That’s what this was?”

“You could at least afford to sound a little more grateful!” Ryuji snaps, and Goro wonders why Ryuji bothered in the first place, how a kiss could count as a birthday gift at all. But despite all logic whirring in his brain, his chest is full and his tongue feels cottony and the only thing he registers at the moment is that persistent itch to do it again.

“I… I mean, thank you.” Goro lowers his head, inexplicably hot. He awkwardly detaches himself from Ryuji’s shirt. It’s not a welcome sensation, truth be told; as soon as he’s re-established the distance, he reaches for Ryuji’s hand and connects them again. Ryuji is startled by the contact, fingers twitching in Goro’s hold.

“U-Uh—?”

“I liked it,” Goro admits, afraid that if he stops now, he’ll double back and abandon all that transpired here, even his own feelings. He strokes the back of Ryuji’s hand with his thumb, lips thinned. “I just don’t understand…”

“… Well I ain’t got any money on me for an actual present, so I just. Yeah, I dunno.” Ryuji’s cheeks are red, redder than Joker’s gloves. He clearly doesn’t expect Goro to accept that as a plausible explanation, so he presses on, “You just looked like you needed it, okay! And I was feelin’ generous. But, um, if you don’t want me to do it again…”

“No, please do.” The words are out of Goro’s mouth before he can prevent their escape. Flustered, but happy, Ryuji nods once and leans forward to repeat the action. This time he entwines both of their hands together and Goro presses into it eagerly, relishing in the warmth spreading from their lips to their palms all the way down to his stomach. He’s almost glad they picked the bench under the large oak tree, because even with the threat of being spotted he’s sure he wouldn’t be able to stop himself any time soon, and the shade of the foliage ensures some degree of privacy.  

At some point, though, they have to pull away, chests heaving from breathlessness. They’d gotten closer over the course of the kiss, foreheads against each other, and it’s sort of gross because they’re still sweaty from the run and Ryuji tastes like the sandwich they had for lunch but the last thing Goro wants to do is to let go. Ryuji averts his gaze bashfully.

“Um… happy birthday, I guess.”

Goro breaks into a giddy smile.

“So this is how it feels,” he comments, feeling special, content beyond all measure. 


	2. ann

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> something i should probably mention is that each of these chapters take place in a different universe, so they don't all happen on the same day! that'd be a bit too overwhelming for goro lmao
> 
> don't forget to leave kudos and comment~

It’s Ann who finds Goro flailing at the shopping mall sometime during brunch, rifling helplessly through clothes racks without ever seeming to settle on one item for his troubles. He hears her voice before seeing her face; in this maze of clothing, it’s hard to distinguish her location, at least until she emerges from behind a tuxedo display with a bright grin and two large shopping bags cradled underneath her right arm.

“Akechi-kun!” she chirps, bouncing forward to give him a one-armed hug. He returns it, if a bit awkwardly, and sidles a few steps away (a distance she immediately closes). “Happy birthday! I’m startled to see you, I thought you _hated_ shopping.”

“Thank you. Also, I… simply don’t see the need half the time.” Goro combs a hand through his immaculate hair, abashed. He feels completely out-of-place, out of his element, and being in the presence of Ann Takamaki—part-time model and dedicated fashionista—does little to ease that. “I must ask, though, what brings you to the men’s store?”

Ann blows a curl away from her long-lashed eyes. “I’m not here because I _want_ to be. I’m doing a couple’s photoshoot… if the other guy actually decides to _show up_ , that is.”

“Oh? What a predicament.”

“I know, right? We even confirmed the details with him yesterday! But since this asshole’s gonna be a no-show, my agents are trying to contact someone else to take his place. I sort of just wandered off and… well, here I am.” Ann sighs, hoisting her bags higher up her arm. “That can’t be helped, though. I guess I have to sit prettily and wait for now. What about you? I never found out why _you_ came here, and on your birthday, too…”

Goro pensively frames his chin with his hand. “If I have to be honest, it’s nothing… admirable, really. I simply came to prove Ren and Kitagawa wrong.”

“Prove them wrong?”

“Yes,” Goro confirms, reddening a bit at the thought. “We spoke over the phone this morning. I don’t recall how the topic went from my birthday to my appearance, but they claimed most of my appeal relied on my schoolboy charm, not because I had a particularly good fashion sense. I wish to surprise them… though I’m not sure how—”

“Oh, Ann-chan!” a voice interrupts.

Ann goes as stiff as a rock. A curse flies out from under her breath, and within the next moment she has schooled her expression into something pleasant and beaming, arms wide open.

“Hey, Kawano-san! You’re back.”

“So this is where you’ve been,” the exasperated Kawano snaps, striding towards their aisle. His gaze flits from Goro to Ann, seeking answers, before finally fixing on Ann. “Unfortunately, we couldn’t find any substitutes for the shoot. We’re prepared to reschedule, but…” All of a sudden, he nods his head towards Goro. “This your boyfriend?”

“Um… ? He’s—”

“Whatever, it doesn’t matter. Hey, kid, wanna try something out for a bit? We could use some extra hands, and you look the part.”

Goro knits his brows. “Excuse me?”

“You mean he gets to be my partner?” Ann interjects, and Kawano nods, his patience waning. He must be too resigned to think this through.

Goro prepares a protest at the tip of his tongue, but Ann elbows him hard on the ribs and forces him to stifle a yelp. “This could be your chance!” she whispers pointedly, eyes gleaming with all the mischief of a thief. When he sends her a questioning gaze, Ann merely rolls her eyes. “You said you wanted surprise Ren and Yusuke, right? There’s no bigger surprise than having your face on the front cover of a magazine. So what do you say, Akechi-kun?”

Goro narrows his eyes at the little demon wiggling her eyebrows at him, considering his options and exploring them. He has nothing planned for the day, and he can’t say the satisfaction of beating Ren and Yusuke isn’t tempting. All the more reason, right?

“Okay.” He flashes a winning smile at Kawano, eyes polite. “Lead the way.”

 

* * *

 

As soon as they arrive at the location, restless women armed with makeup brushes drag Goro away to beat his face with powder and cream and other such plastic-smelling cosmetics. This routine is familiar, nostalgic even—as the Detective Prince, most of his looks were handpicked by coordinators desperate to gloss his reputation with shining skin and deerlike charm and present him as the darling detective with spot-on opinions and equally spot-on clothes. Would it be a crime to admit that he misses it some days?

Of course, that doesn’t whittle away the irritation that seethes at being manhandled. Hands and fingers and nails gripping at his chin, his hair, peeling off his blazer and gloves, panic rising within him, _don’t touch me, go away, go away—_

“He can do it himself,” Kawano says all of a sudden, likely sensing Goro’s growing urgency to flee. Goro offers him a smile, grateful, albeit apologetic.

He’s handed his clothes and starts to dress himself with much caution and attention to detail. The outfit is not to his tastes (which, according to Ren and Yusuke, doesn’t exist anyway) but the knowledge that this is today’s weapon of choice, his means of destroying expectation like a true Phantom Thief, empowers him. He can hardly wait to see the look on everyone’s faces…  

“Akechi-kun, right?” one of the photographers calls as Goro emerges from the makeshift dressing room. He gives a nod and a smile, coupled with a wave—force of habit, to be  honest. But it wins over the photographer who practically swoons at the sight, beckoning Goro over to run her gaze up and down the length of him.

“Geez, how are you not a model? C’mon, go stand with Ann-chan.”

He complies reluctantly, not entirely sure of the proper way to move in such an elegant ensemble. Ann is there, of course, a woman at her side attempting to add more of a flourish to her skirt—attempts that immediately go to waste as soon as Ann spots Goro.

“Oh my god, look at you!” She trots up to him in her impossibly tall heels and pats his cheeks, going the extra mile and sliding her hands down his chest, admiring the fabric. “The designers really know what they’re doing… God, you’re hot. Sorry. That was out of nowhere. But I mean it, y’know? The others are gonna be _stumped_ when they see you, no lie.”

“I sure hope so,” he mutters, giving a nervous chuckle. His voice seems to startle Ann out of her trance, and she plucks her hands off of him as if burned, laughing just as nervously.

“Y-Yeah! No worries. Hey, let’s get in position, we don’t wanna waste any time.”

“Ah, of course.”

Following her, feeling akin to a lost puppy, Goro stands awkwardly on the side as he awaits instruction. He can’t remember how to dredge up the long-forgotten charm of his adolescence beyond his usual smile and laugh, and the familiar sensation of anxiety swims at the pit of his stomach. That is, until the photographer enters the scene with her disarming pep and passion, laughing amiably at the sight of Goro and Ann standing several feet apart.

“Get closer, you two!” she urges them. Ann reaches out and tugs Goro forward so that they’re nearly chest-to-chest, smirking devilishly. The photographer beams: “Ah, _spectacular._ You two are absolutely show-stopping. Ann-chan, tilt your head this way? Yes, perfect. Now Akechi-kun, if you could just…”

The flow of instruction gives Goro something to do. Something to focus on, away from the doubt, the uneasiness, the timidity. He wears his charisma like an old coat, uncertainty and familiarity combining in an odd mesh of action and inaction, and before he knows it he’s riding the wave of commands with just as much fluidity as Ann. They gravitate closer, Ann’s hand on his shoulder, his on her hip, their heads turned towards the camera with poise and sensuality. At one point, he has to dip her slightly—at another, she leans against his broad chest—and another, and another, and another, until they flick through enough poses to call the first break.

“You’re doing well, Akechi-kun,” the photographer tells him, as Ann peeks at the results processing on the laptop. “Have you ever considered doing this part-time?”

“Oh, no. I could never participate in something like this,” Goro answers. He makes sure to add his signature smile to avoid drawing the offense of the photographer.

“Really? You’re a real natural. Consider it, maybe, and contact us if you want to return.”

With that, the second round of pictures commences; Ann removes her fur coat and baring her arms, her collarbone, the long line of her neck. They instruct Goro to unbutton his collar and prop his blazer up on his shoulders, rolling the cuffs of his sleeves up to his elbows. It’s certainly more suggestive this time. More skin, more proximity…

Ann’s fingers climb up his face, cupping his jaw, and he turns his cheek towards her hand. The next shot, they hand him the lipstick brand they’re advertising and advise him to press it against Ann’s lips, feigning application. Much of the photos continue along this same vein before the photographer is leaning back, clicking her tongue thoughtfully.

“This won’t do…” She peers at the camera, then at the two of them. “You two are dating, right? Why don’t you give Ann-chan a kiss?”

“Pardon?” Goro’s face twitches, but quickly, he directs the actions of his face muscles to pull into a bright smile instead. “We’re not—”

“Akechi-kun,” Ann reprimands him, pressing a finger to his lips. Her smile is wicked when he turns to shoot a glare at her. “C’mon, think about the others. If they saw… well, don’t you want to make them a little jealous?”

Oh, she is too devious. Goro blushes down his collarbone, but the idea is enticing. He can only imagine their reactions to the magazine…

_Give them something to talk about for a week. At least they’ll be talking about you._

“We’re ready,” Ann pipes up, before Goro can reply to her. The photographer props up her camera with an excited smile, finding somewhere to stand to achieve the desired angle.

“Marvelous! Akechi-kun, lean forward, as if you’re chasing her lips… but Ann-chan is hesitant, turning her face away from you at first. Just like that—stunning, absolutely stunning. Now, Ann-chan, tilt your head _just_ slightly… there we go.”

With the movement, Ann brushes her lips against his cheek, and Goro’s breath catches. He can hardly hear what the photographer says next because the next moment, Ann’s red, red lips are caressing his in the ghost of a kiss. It’s hardly full, as they have to keep their heads angled towards the camera, but it’s enough that Goro can feel how soft her lips are, can even distinguish the taste of her lipstick. He leans forward minutely, makes it more believable, and Ann grins so wide that her mouth parts to reveal perfect, white teeth.

“You two are _adorable,_ my god. Beautiful work. You can take a break now!”

Ann has to break away laughing, her hand over her mouth to keep most of it from spilling out. Goro’s face heats up in mortification.

“Why are you laughing?”

“No, no—it’s nothing.” Ann snorts, pulling her hand away and consequently uncovering her goofy smile. “It was good. I’m just embarrassed. You, um, smell very good.”

“Ah… thank you?”

Ann scoffs, her eyes indignant but fond, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, I hope you’re proud that you stole my first kiss. That’s not something I’d let just anyone take!”

“I did what?” Baffled, Goro can do nothing but gape at her, lingering sensations of their kiss returning to him in reminders of it. “… How strange. I believe that was my first, too.”

“Huh. Really?”

“Unsurprisingly,” Goro breathes, “yes.”

Ann slaps a palm to her temple, her smile edging towards something like incredulity. “Wow, um, this is weird. Haha…”

“I have to agree on that.”

“Well—” Ann places her hand on his shoulder, and it’s a little more forceful than necessary, but Goro chalks it up to nervousness and allows it to happen. “I guess that’s my birthday present to you, huh?” At his deflated stare, she bites back a laugh. “I’m just kidding. We’ll grab crepes on our way out. Think of it as my way of treating you for this favor!”

As much as this photoshoot drained him, crepes sound good. He nods at once.


	3. yusuke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yusuke is my fave.... can you tell....
> 
> don't forget to leave comments and kudos~ i hope you enjoy!

Goro has no idea what to expect when Yusuke messages him before noon, inviting him out for breakfast. There are a couple of things that don’t compute in his message: 1) the assumption that Yusuke has the money to treat Goro to anything but fast food, 2) calling it breakfast when it’s very nearly lunch, and 3) the fact that he’s taking Goro to a couple’s café.

It had never been in Goro’s interest to indulge in the saccharine delights of such an establishment, primarily due to his lack of a romantic partner, but Yusuke’s talking it up with such relish that Goro has no choice but to agree. It’s Goro’s birthday, after all. Yusuke is eager to please him and Goro embraces attention, so fuck it, he’ll go even if the blinding pastel interior and schmaltzy atmosphere drive him to tears.

“Ah, Akechi,” Yusuke greets him once he arrives at the rendezvous point in Shibuya. “I have to say, you clean up quite nicely.”

Goro glances down at his outfit—something so blatantly casual that he has trouble believing he’s not in another person’s body. Ann helped in its coordination, leaving him with the oh-so-tiring task of fishing every required component out of his closet, and as such…  

… Ah. Yusuke hasn’t ceased in his staring. Goro perks up, wondering if he’d forgotten to reply, and lowers his gaze bashfully. “Oh, um—thank you.” He fiddles with the end of his ponytail, self-conscious. Even knowing he went through this much trouble to dress up causes a blush to surface on his face. To dispel it, he gives Yusuke the same eye treatment, raking his gaze up the boy’s cuffed jeans, his collared shirt, the hint of blush on his cheeks—

No, no, too much staring. Back to the issue at hand. Goro tugs at his shirt collar, suddenly feeling ten times warmer. “We, um, probably should get going…”

All of a sudden, something grazes the side of his ear; Goro yelps at the touch. Yusuke has his fingers at Goro’s temple, tracing along the exposed skin with furrowed brows, flattened lips, eyes so calculative and piercing that one would think he was analyzing an art piece.

“My apologies,” Yusuke murmurs, sounding distant, “but I can’t help but marvel at your new look.”

Goro sputters in bewilderment. Listing his head slightly, Yusuke draws closer to circle around him and brush a curious hand through Goro’s ponytail, humming in thought. “Forgive me if I sound rude, but you appear much more youthful like this. More approachable, more boyish—like Ren. Perhaps you could consider trimming your hair? While I do enjoy the shoulder-length look, I admit it’s a little… how do you say…”

“I-I get it!” Goro flinches away, indignant. How dare he compare him to Ren? “Let’s just… eat, please. My appetite is starting to flare.”

Yusuke doesn’t seem the least bit offended at his outburst, nodding once and tugging at Goro’s hand. Startled, Goro can do nothing but allow himself to be dragged through Shibuya for a solid minute before regaining his better sense and retracting his hand, sweaty from the heat (because it’s just the heat, it can’t be anything else).

They arrive at the scene in a flourish. The café is all glorious bright pinks and baby blues that Goro comes to expect, plus the frills and the lace and the cloying perfume. Yusuke seems to have made a reservation; a waitress immediately tends to them and leads the two to their seat (in the center, of course, so there’s no window for Goro to pretend to look out of). Yusuke pulls Goro’s chair out for him and seats himself on the opposite side. Within moments he’s already honing in on the menu, eyeing the options hungrily as a fox would its prey.

Tentatively, Goro examines the menu for himself, already wincing at the decorative and nearly illegible lettering. Although the title claims it’s the “lunch” selection, nearly all the options consist of sweets or otherwise. Figures for a café. Goro fights back a grimace at the sight of decadent pancakes and quickly skims over those options. None of these are particularly suited to his tastes—perhaps settling for a hot chocolate might do…  

“Have you decided?” Yusuke asks from out of the blue, his eyes still fixed on the menu. Instead of answering, Goro deflects back with another question:

“Why did you choose to take me here?”

 _That_ captures Yusuke’s attention, his eyes sliding up to settle keenly on Goro’s. “Why? Is it not to your liking?” His tone drips with so much sincerity it almost hurts. Goro bites his lip, avoiding that doe-eyed gaze with all that he has left, which isn’t much. The moment he concedes a glance at Yusuke is the moment his composure wilts.

“I do like it, really,” he half-lies. “I’m simply curious about your thought process.”

Humming under his breath, Yusuke sets down his menu and folds his hands primly over the table. “I suppose this is not the conventional lunch spot,” he muses, flicking his gaze to and fro. “However, Haru suggested it to me, and I was enamored by the concept. The food, the atmosphere, the company… Truly there is an air of _something_ here. It is unfortunate that I cannot compress it into words. Sharing this experience with you, I believe, may help me piece it all together, hence my sudden invitation.”

Goro wouldn’t call it “sudden” if Yusuke had made a reservation—doesn’t that imply he had made plans? Still, the words lodge deep into Goro’s chest, cause him to squirm with unease.

“You didn’t have to do this for me, Kitagawa-kun.”

At that, a smile touches Yusuke’s lips. “It _is_ your birthday, Akechi. I wish for you to have fun, not confine yourself in your apartment as you do usually. Although I admit I do have some selfish reasons for wanting you to join me…”

 _What the fuck._ Goro’s heart skips a beat, maybe two, maybe three. _What the fuck_ _does that mean._

Before he can parse it, the waitress comes around for their order, and Goro shuts his mouth. Yusuke requests a tea and Goro, a hot chocolate. Goro has reason to believe it ends there, Yusuke folding up his menu and placing it on the center of the table, but his deep voice floats in the air once more: “Could we order today’s featured couple sundae?”

“Right away, sir,” the waitress sings, collecting their menus and scurrying off. Goro gapes openly at Yusuke.

“W-What was—?”

“Do you not want to a share an ice cream?” Yusuke questions, genuine worry in his tone. Once again, his earnestness is startling, almost distressing. Goro chews pensively on his lip and considers his next words.

“It’s not that, it’s just…” He winces inwardly. “Isn’t that a thing reserved for couples?”

“I’m well-aware.”

Oh. Holy shit. Goro clenches his fists so tight in his lap he leaves indents in his palms. He must be reading too much into it, he must be, because Yusuke has a tendency to brush things of this nature off, and it wouldn’t shock him if that were the case here. He’s simply indulging Goro; that’s how gift-giving works. Everything will return to normal tomorrow. It always does.

They spend the next few minutes immersed in idle conversation, spaced out by brief intervals of silence where they simply observe one another. Yusuke is watchful, searching for a sign—a sign of what, exactly? Goro reacts with equal scrutiny, eager to fight fire with fire.

These staring contests are always rather… tedious, to be honest. Goro is not used to being on the receiving end of such examination. He had always been the one behind the desk, dissecting his witnesses word by word, expression by expression, digging up clues, evidence, anything to aide in his case. But Yusuke is adept at turning the tables, at making _him_ nervous and irritated at the inability to hear his thoughts, read his face. It feels too much like a weakness—the Detective Prince, defenseless, stripped bare by an unassuming artist.

Yusuke opens his mouth to say something more. And then, inevitably, they are interrupted when a large glass bowl topped by ice cream obstructs their view of each other. Yusuke peeks his head out from the side, ogling at the icy treat, Goro following suit.

“Fascinating,” is all that Yusuke can manage.

And immediately he slips out his smartphone, positioning it over the sundae to capture it in its entirety. Goro raises a brow, taken aback by this uncharacteristic display.

“Are you posting this on social media, Kitagawa-kun?”

Yusuke snorts quietly, bringing the phone close to examine his handiwork. “That’s more your hobby, is it not? I simply take pictures for when I don’t have my sketchbook with me. That way, when I return home, I can properly reference the things I came across during my outing, and not forget the feeling it gave me upon first seeing it.”

“Clever,” Goro murmurs, distracted by the sundae. Another click of the camera follows, a sound that causes Goro to look up. Yusuke’s phone is pointed directly at him when he turns his head, angled just so Goro’s face fits in the frame, and then he takes another photo, and then one more, a smile quirking at his lips as he scrolls through the results.

“Are you taking pictures of me, too?” Goro asks incredulously.

Yusuke’s nod is belated. “How could I pass up the opportunity?”

Deciding not to question it, Goro spears his spoon into the ice cream and shovels a bite into his mouth. Yusuke copies him, noticing the delight which flickers across Goro’s face at the taste. Together, they chip away at the sundae, dividing the strawberries and chocolate squares evenly amongst themselves. Yusuke is ravenous in his motions, inhaling half of the sundae within the first five minutes. Goro takes his time, savoring it, humming lightly with pleasure.

There is something undeniably intimate about sharing a sundae with Yusuke. Perhaps it’s the music enhancing the experience, or the customer base, or the decorations, all tailored to complement the café’s specialty: romance. A space for lovers, for close friends, for sentimentality. Goro has none of that. He believes it to be true, and yet…

And yet there is no mistaking the joy behind Yusuke's eyes, coaxed out only in the presence of his treasured friends. Goro never knew he could cause a look like that, never knew  _anyone_ could make that face with him around, and yet here Yusuke is, once again going against all of Goro's truths. He picks away at the sundae almost childishly now, not wanting to acknowledge the fact. Soon he finishes his share with nary a peep from his mouth and only a contented sigh to attest to his presence.

“Are you enjoying yourself?”

Yusuke is regarding him now. Goro faces Yusuke, licking his lips in contemplation. “… I am.”

“Good. I’m glad.” An affectionate smile adorns Yusuke’s lips. Then, as if realizing something, he reaches into his pocket and tugs out a handkerchief. “Excuse me for a second. You have a little something on your face…”

“I have a—?” He has no opportunity to continue, for the soft fabric of Yusuke’s handkerchief brushes against Goro’s lower lip, travelling downward, just over his chin. He wipes gently at the stain there, smearing chocolate, and Goro’s mouth parts at the hint of pressure. He hopes his stuttered breaths aren’t immediately obvious, his flushed cheeks, his rapid pulse, because Yusuke keeps diligently at his task for thirty seconds before pulling his hand away.

“There we go. All done.” Yusuke tucks the handkerchief back in his pocket.

 _Why the hell did he do that?_ Goro’s mind panics, tipping into overdrive. _What was the point? Couldn’t he have just told me, and I could have simply cleaned it myself? Was this an excuse to touch me?_

His thoughts multiply just as the blush on his face does, surely red enough to match the strawberries in their bowl. He’s sure he could even rival the dark red of the cherry Yusuke consumed earlier. Quickly, he downs his hot chocolate, not that it does anything to help the heat blooming in his chest.

 _Why are you so flustered?_ he scolds himself. He clears his throat and nearly squeaks when he notices Yusuke’s eyes still intently focused on him. To be so affected by such an innocuous act… Goro has truly gone soft. How foolish, how pathetic, how utterly trite…

“Shall we get going?” Yusuke speaks up. His voice is just quiet enough that Goro can hear, tinged with alarm. “You don’t look well. Perhaps we ordered too much ice cream…”

“What? No, I’m fine. It was delicious.” Goro assumes a half-convincing smile, aiming for reassurance that Yusuke seems to accept. He sighs, standing from his chair. His hands start to rummage through his pockets for something—a wallet, Goro soon finds—and reach inside, removing a couple thousand yen that nearly trip Goro as he stands to stop him.

“K-Kitagawa-kun?! You’re not _seriously_ paying for all this, are you—”

“Is that not social etiquette?” Yusuke flutters his lashes, and _god_ he’s hard to deny when he’s like that. Still, guilt crawls up Goro’s chest, unforgiving; Yusuke isn’t equipped with much, and allowing him to pay for the meal feels suspiciously like robbery…

“Please,” Yusuke says, “do not fret. I can regain this amount in a month’s time.”

“A _month_ is hardly better!” Goro snaps, his eyes widening at the mere thought.

“Then I can ask Haru for a loan.”

“Kitagawa-kun, I don’t think Okumura would approve of charging you interest…”

Yusuke just shrugs. Tired but resigned, Goro says nothing when Yusuke sets the money on the table and begins to make his way out of the café, trailing at Yusuke's heels with a barely-concealed sulk.

“I’ll return the favor, Kitagawa-kun,” Goro pipes up. They’re standing underneath the awning now, a few steps away from the steady stream of passerby milling about the sidewalk. “I haven’t even done anything for your birthday. You wouldn’t mind a belated birthday gift, would you? I’d need some time, but with a little effort, I’m sure I’d be able to buy you something—”

“Akechi. This experience alone was rewarding for me.” A hand is placed on his shoulder, contact that startles a yelp out of Goro’s throat. Yusuke chuckles softly. He turns Goro around to face him, hands resting on Goro’s biceps, feeling the fabric of his cardigan. And then, leaning down, he plants a kiss on the corner of Goro’s lips.

“K-Kitagawa—?”

“Yusuke,” he corrects. “Yusuke is fine.”

And then he’s tilting his head forward again, gazing into Goro’s eyes, though the latter is averting them pointedly out of embarrassment. Yusuke tucks a stray hair behind Goro’s ear, an action that has Goro shuddering.

“Why did you kiss me?” he breathes finally, uncertainly.

Yusuke doesn’t move. “I believe that this is the customary way to end a date.”

“A date—? Yusuke, was this a date?” Goro stammers, but the look on Yusuke’s face suggests that it had been obvious. Goro feels incredibly dumb all of a sudden. Of course Yusuke viewed this as a date—given all the hints he’d been dropping earlier…

“Do you not want it to be a date?” Yusuke murmurs, ever honest, and oh, how cruel. Every time he asserts it, wields it as elegantly as Fox’s katana, Goro is left speechless and numb with indecision. But the feeling of Yusuke’s hands, his thumbs which knead into Goro’s shoulders, proves a much more potent weapon than that. All of a sudden the pretense on Goro’s tongue washes away, leaves him as a boy desperate for touch, for attention, for love.

“I… I do.” He clutches onto Yusuke’s shirt. “If you would have me.”

“Silly. I already invited you out.”

Goro doesn’t answer and instead leans up again, trusting Yusuke to close the difference in height and kiss him in full. This time they’re prepared, every sensation heightened, amplified by the hundreds; Goro melts into a puddle of nothing. He has never known warmth like this, security like this, and true comfort feels frighteningly close to the scent of Yusuke’s cologne, the softness of his lips, the hum trapped low in his throat. Goro could get used to this. He _wants_ to get used this. He wants nothing more than to make this routine.

He tells Yusuke as much, once they pull away and Goro is darting his eyes around in hopes no one had been watching. Thankfully, Yusuke is on the same page. He tangles his hand in Goro’s with the promise of continuing this at his dorm, where there is more privacy, and Goro trips over his feet five times in his hurry to get there as soon as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tomorrow is my high school graduation so the next chapter might be late or a bit short! i apologize in advance, but i do need some time away from writing haha


	4. makoto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tw for alcohol!]  
> this chapter is late because wow! i graduated high school yesterday! that's cool. tomorrow i'm going to do a double update and upload haru and futaba's simultaneously, so keep an eye out for that.
> 
> leave comments and kudos if you enjoyed! i like to know how i'm doing

Sleep is moments from claiming Goro when, abruptly, the shrill of his doorbell wakes him from his daze. The clock reads 10:00PM, a dull, neon-green glare in the heavy dark, and Goro gropes around for the switch on his lamp before the apartment is engulfed in light. Dragging himself off the couch, he staggers over to peer through the peephole of his door and fumble for the knob. It slides open with a barely audible creak.

“Nijima-san?” he croaks, voice still weighed by fatigue. At the door, Makoto stands with a half-smile and cocked brow, fingers wrapped around the neck of a wine bottle.

“Happy birthday, Akechi-kun. Sorry, did I wake you?”

“Yes.” He eyes the bottle in Makoto’s grip. “I do hope you did not travel all this distance just to gift me with alcohol. A greeting would have sufficed, and I wouldn’t have—”

“Let me in.” He doesn’t budge, and Makoto simply rolls her eyes, nudging past him regardless. Conceding to her wishes, Goro closes the door behind him and takes her coat from her, hanging it on a nearby rack. She meanwhile makes herself a home on his couch.

“Sae gave this to me,” Makoto explains, propping her feet up on his coffee table (much to his dismay). It’s amazing how little she pretends around him now that they’re more or less on equal ground. “I’m not the type to drink alone. Since your birthday was coming up, I figured we could share. It’s fine to decline, as wine tends to be a little…”

“Tart,” Goro provides, retreating into his kitchen. He removes two wine glasses from the cabinet and makes his way to the living room. On the couch, Makoto is fiddling with the corkscrew, opening the bottle and drifting the rim under her nose. At the smell, she scrunches up her nose. Goro can’t help but release a chuckle at the sight.

“Not used to it?”

Makoto shakes her head, frowning. “It’s a little dizzying…”

“That’s fine, we can always set it aside.” Goro takes a seat a respectable distance away from her. However, her mouth set in a stubborn line, Makoto snatches the wine glass from Goro’s hand and fills it nearly to the brim, careful to avoid spilling.

“Bottoms up, Akechi-kun.” She raises her wine in preparation of a toast.

“Please don’t down it in one go,” Goro says, sighing exasperatedly as he pours his own glass. He tips it forward to clink against the edge of Makoto’s, then takes a sip, lips puckering at its acidic flavor. Ah, he’d nearly forgotten. The aftertaste is always the worst part.

Setting down his glass, he turns in his seat to come face-to-face with Makoto’s critical stare. She’d let her hair loose, the long dark locks tumbling about her shoulders, arms spread over the back of the couch in an unusual display of laxity. “I don’t believe you’ve spent most of your birthday cooped up in your apartment,” she mutters. “Although, what with the lack of news from the others, that appears to have been all you were doing.”

Goro just shrugs. “I don’t value my birthday. Hosting parties, receiving gifts, blowing out the candles… and for what? Simply to symbolize the passing of another year in your life. I have no reason to celebrate any of the cursed years I’ve been through.”

“Cynical, as always,” Makoto deadpans, sipping inelegantly at her wine. “You must not enjoy a single thing in your life.”

“Books,” Goro retorts. “The TV. And…” He refrains from adding “you guys” onto the end of his sentence, though the meaning look he sends in Makoto’s direction reveals his stance. Makoto shakes her head, a wry smile tugging at her lips.

“You don’t even explore society outside of our own little circle. I bet you can’t name another acquaintance—” She lifts a finger to interrupt whatever protest was about to leave Goro’s mouth. “No, no, Sae and Sojiro-san don’t count. I mean one that’s _your_ age.”

Goro pouts; so that’s how she’s going to play it, huh? Dredging up the forgotten vestiges of their rivalry, egging him on the way he used to do with _her_ , daring her to prove him wrong. He supposes the competitive streak had never left the both of them in the first place; they were only too scared to let it show, to sink into something frighteningly close to the familiarity they had as the Phantom Thieves, an era which has bits and pieces of dynamics which can never be salvaged fully. Goro still shudders to remember the way Haru used to treat him before he…

“I’ve no time for such pursuits,” Goro says, instead of continuing that train of thought.

“What, with all that time you waste away, rotting in your bedroom? I don’t believe it.”

Narrowing his eyes at her, Goro retorts with double the venom, “I bet you can’t even do the same.”

“What?”

“Go on.” He smirks, suddenly impish, leaning back a touch in his seat. “Name someone other than the Thieves you retain close contact with.”

Makoto chews on her lip, her mouth twitching in annoyance. But a moment passes where she does not answer and Goro counts that as a success. He barks out a laugh: “Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” and Makoto shoots him a glare lined with so much ice that a chill tingles down Goro’s spine. Queen’s knack for terrorizing hasn’t lost its edge.

“How do you live, Akechi-kun?” She sighs, swilling her glass in mock contemplation. “I have a secure job. I have paperwork that needs more attention than my social life does. And yet, you… You lack drive. Something to keep you going—”

“I was never _meant_ to keep going,” Goro interrupts, and Makoto falls silent.

The tension is unbearable. But if there’s anything exceptional to note about the Thieves, it’s that they’re adaptable. Makoto sighs again, lifting her legs from the table so she can lean forward on her knees, stare him down with something similar to his own detective’s intensity. “Perhaps we should set you up on a date, Akechi-kun.”

“Excuse me?” He bolts upward, gawking like a fool. “I don’t see how this is relevant.”

“Gives you an excuse to leave the house, for one,” Makoto murmurs, as if she’s seriously considering this, “and also a reason to look forward to tomorrow. Besides, with your experience, I imagine it’ll be a walk in the park.”

“That’s not…” Goro’s face turns beet red. Makoto’s eyes widen at that, like it provides her with some kind of insight to a universally unanswered question.

“Oh my god. Don’t tell me.”

“What?”

“You’ve never been on a date,” Makoto whispers, jaw slackening. “My god, Akechi-kun—you’re _twenty-two_ years old.”  

“So what?” Goro stands now, eager to be anywhere but here, having this conversation with _Makoto_ of all people. “Like _you’ve_ ever been on a date before.”

Makoto pinks. “I have! I mean, it was a fake date with Ren as a means of investigation, but—that has to count for something, right?”

They stare at each other knowing full well her statement is every shade of ridiculous. Sitting back down, huffing in exasperation, Goro raises his wine glass to his lips and ignores the flash of bitterness that scratches his tongue and throat as he chugs it down. Makoto’s competitive flame seems to be stoked by this, as she rushes to do the same.

“I can do you one better,” Makoto says, slamming down her glass. “No one has ever confessed to you, have they? Not that you know of.”

Goro curls his lip in distaste, flushing despite his best efforts to not react. He almost regrets tossing out the considerate love letters of his fans as a teenager—perhaps he could have found something truly interesting in them. “I’m sure they have,” he argues, struggling to keep his cool. “I simply never checked any of their… how do I say… ”

“How cold, Akechi-kun.” Makoto smiles, emboldened, and Goro _hates_ it. He pours the two of them more wine and proceeds to take a generous gulp from his glass, the alcohol doing nothing for the already groggy fuzziness in his head.

“Well, I’m sure you’ve never had sex with anyone,” Goro comments offhandedly.

Makoto squeaks. “I’m not telling you something like that that even if I _did!_ ”

“Kissed anyone?”

Silence. “No.”

Goro shrugs, finishing off his glass once more. “Me neither.”

“I just never had the opportunity,” Makoto says, sounding dejected, and she drinks the rest of her wine as if to compensate for her insecurity. “Confessions, sure, I’ve experienced those. But I’ve never felt the need to go through with any of them. And as a result…”

“I can imagine,” Goro mutters, already losing interest in the topic. How did they get here again?

“I’m not scared.” Makoto says this as if challenged, though there’s no verbal evidence of one, simply the expectation. “Kissing shouldn’t be that bad. It’s methodical, like most things.”

Goro lifts a brow. “Is that so?” he drawls.

“Y-Yes.” She lowers her gaze and clears her throat. Losing confidence. Good.

“I bet you don’t even know how to kiss,” Goro challenges, eager to keep on pushing.

“I do!” Makoto protests, pouting, and her existing blush is made worse by the wine. “I—I’ve read books,” she continues, amending her claim in a way that only serves to undermine her. Goro grins.

“Books.”

Makoto flings one of the throw pillows at him, and then another, just for good measure. “Shut up.”

He deflects it with his arm and it narrowly misses tipping over the wine bottle. They stare at it, breaths caught, before turning back to each other.

“I’ll prove it to you,” she snaps, once Goro is done picking up the pillow with his foot.

Goro scoffs. “Prove it to me _how,_ exactly?”

“Let me kiss you.”

 _What the fuck?_ Sputtering through his wine, Goro wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and hisses, _“No!”_

“Oh, come on.” Makoto rolls her eyes. “I find it highly improbable anything will come of it. You are just as likely to fall in love with me as you are to have sex with—”

“I understand,” Goro cuts in, afraid of what she’ll say next. Loathe as he is to admit it, she makes a point; the two of them are logical, rarely ever emotion-bound, and the chances of them becoming an item are so low they’re beneath the Earth’s crust. That, and their tastes are… dissimilar. Still, it seems odd that’d she would make the proposal in the first place—if she were sober, she wouldn’t deign to consider kissing him just to prove a point.

“At the very least, you get to know what it’s like,” Makoto offers, already crawling towards him, and Goro backs up against the arm of the couch.

“Do you think I _care_ about shit like that?”

“Just once.” Makoto holds her finger up, close enough that Goro has no room to flee. “Just so we can both decide whether or not it’s worth deeming significant.”

Goro huffs through his nose. As much as the idea appalls him, he won’t deny the curiosity that sits at the pit of his stomach, urging him to sate it while he’s still tipsy. Because surely, this is not an idea he’d entertain without the influence of the wine, and he doesn’t think he could ever work up the guts to kiss anyone regardless of whether or not they were dating.

Plus, the idea of losing to Makoto is…

“Okay,” Goro says haughtily, puffing his chest a little. “Sure. What’s the harm?”

She grins, victorious, but the smugness is immediately replaced by shock when Goro grabs the back of her neck and pulls her in. They clack teeth, because of _course_ they do, and they pull away wincing, rubbing crossly at their mouths.

“Slower, please,” Makoto grumbles, and then leans in again.

The collision is not as messy this time, though there’s still a note of clumsiness in it; Makoto freezes up immediately and fails to reciprocate, making the effort very much one-sided. Goro is seconds away from bailing but his head swims too much to coordinate any other part of his body but his mouth, heady and muddled by the alcohol, and he prods at her lips with his own and forces her to react. She clutches at his shirt and finally, finally starts to move. She tastes like the wine, sour but not so much that Goro feels compelled to break the kiss. He parts his mouth to bite down on her lower lip, eliciting a squeak from her throat.

“What the hell?” she whines as they part, going back in to nip at him with just as much fervor. Something tells Goro that they should stop before they both end up bleeding, but—this isn’t bad. No, it isn’t really. He dares to call it good, but he has too much pride to admit to that. He pricks her with his teeth one last time before tugging at her hair, causing them to break apart.

“Oh,” is all she says, and Goro simply stares.

“Did I do well?” she asks, disturbing the pause that they let linger too long. Goro shrugs, twiddling with the ends of his hair.

“Not bad.”

“Huh.” She climbs off of him, straightening her blouse. “You weren’t so bad, yourself.”

With that, she reclaims her spot at the end of the couch, kicking back and sipping at her wine as if the kiss had never happened. Willing the blush to leave his cheeks, Goro pours himself another drink and takes full advantage of its dizzying properties to finally rid of his embarrassment. Soon enough they’re chatting with all the casualty of two old friends catching up with each other.

Makoto was right, nothing had changed. At least, nothing _noticeable_. At the very least, they had borne a secret that only _they_ shared, and if either of them happened to leak it to the others… well, maybe things could get more interesting than initially promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my twin: isn't this like that icarly episode  
> me: 
> 
> hoo. okay. this one was a bit hard to write because goro and makoto are full-on gay in my eyes, but i found a way to make it work. hope.... hope it sufficed. haha


	5. futaba

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a bit of a doozy because of the circumstances surrounding futaba and goro, so i didn't want to simply gloss over it... because of that, this is largely angsty and includes a whole lot of introspection. sorry people who wanted fluff OTL
> 
> regardless, i hope i made this portrayal believable! this was incredibly hard to write, and i still did a sloppy job. please make sure to leave comments/kudos~

Goro has no clue how Futaba convinces Sojiro to let him into the Sakura household. Even less of a clue how she coerced him into cooking them both curry, but he’s learned to stop looking a gift horse in the mouth, conditioned by years of the Thieves scolding him for it. He only floods with questions when Futaba tugs him to the living room and nudges a game controller into his hands, which are semi-occupied with his plate of curry.

“Um, Futaba-chan?”

“Play a match with me, birthday boy,” she snaps, accepting no withdrawals. He sighs and acquiesces, setting down his unfinished curry to better hold the controller. For today, she has picked another fighting game which Goro has no shortage of experience in (thanks to Ren’s careful teachings). But underestimating Futaba’s nimble fingers and quick-witted strategies lead to his undoing. After six or so rounds—Goro loses count of the amount of times he calls for a rematch—he puts down his controller with a sigh, returning to his now-cold plate of curry.

“Ever the professional,” Goro says faux-brightly, standing to microwave his meal. Futaba stares at his back, but does not follow him.

“Not my fault you can’t take a loss, birthday boy. I could have been tutoring you matches ago if you hadn’t been so stubborn.”

Goro rolls his eyes, choosing not to respond. As usual, Futaba is quite the mystery—inviting him to spend his birthday with the Sakura’s, roping him into playing games with her, offering to tutor him on the most effective playing styles. She has no reason to be wasting her time on him, he knows that much. But the Thieves have never been known to leave someone behind—even a mass murderer with trust issues and a smart mouth that contributes nothing to society.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have invited me,” he mutters under his breath, taking his curry back to the living room where Futaba remains staring at him. She raises a brow.

“What was that?”

“I said thank you for the offer.” He smiles charmingly—or, what he thinks is charming, but probably comes out crooked and unconvincing. Futaba tilts her head, brow elevating higher as he sits down a pointed two chairs away from her.

“What, you’re gonna act all distant from me, now?” she says.

“I don’t know what you mean. I’ve always been distant.” Goro lowers his eyes, stares down at his piping curry. “Especially from you. It should have stayed that way.”

“You know, I’ve had enough of this. You pitying yourself. I’m not gonna feel sorry for you if you keep doing that.” The face that Futaba makes is pinched, irritated.

“I’m not trying to get you to feel sorry for me,” Goro retorts, voice heavy and bitter. He takes a bite of his curry, thankfully mild, for if it had been even a touch spicy he would have lost his wits then and there. “It’s the truth. You and your lot confound me. Keeping someone like me around, even knowing what I’ve done. I’d call you self-destructive, but… I shouldn't state the obvious. It must be torture forcing yourself to treat me kindly.”

“Five years and you’re still going _on_ and _on_ about that! Get a grip, man, none of us hate you!” She pulls her knees up to her chest, mumbling, “I was mad about it before, yeah. Still am sometimes. But look, I’m twenty now. And the you that I’m mad at—damn, you were what, fifteen? You were my age when I joined the Thieves! A dumb kid, just like me. And you can’t change the way you were back then, so what the hell’s moping about it gonna do?”

He knows that. He knows, he knows, he _knows._ He gets this talk all the time—maybe four or five times a month. Always and always the same pattern, the same excuses. He figures the Thieves are just grasping at straws to make him feel better. Perhaps they’re gloating about it—their abilities to tame a wild, aimless animal such as himself who once had the same bloodlust as a lion.

The thought makes him quiver. Fingers trembling on his spoon, Goro lets the utensil clank against the plate and leans his head back against the couch.

“I have a question,” he speaks up, voice quiet.

Futaba groans. “Oh my god, we’re really going to do this again? On your birthday?”

“You said the Thieves didn’t hate me. You’re lying, aren’t you?” He lifts his head, meeting her gaze from across the room. “You still do. Maybe just a little bit.”

Futaba kicks her legs over the edge of the couch and plants her hands on her knees, leaning forward. “Only when you pull shit like this, yeah! I like it better when you’re not being a sad little nuthead. It’s kinda irritating, you know, when you completely ignore everything the Thieves tell you. They’re just trying to help and you completely spurn them.”

Goro’s breath stutters, stunned into silence. He starts up again, “They shouldn’t even be helping me.”

“Well, that’s too bad, because they are. And you gotta deal with it. You’ve been dealing with it for years, and just now suddenly you’re questioning it?”

Goro doesn’t respond. He fears if he does, he’ll break down, ruin everything like he’s so good at doing. Instead, he sets his curry aside and pinches the bridge of his nose. There’s the sound of movement to his left, but he doesn’t pay much mind to it; only when he feels a hand on his shoulder does he look up, pulling his hand away from his face.

Futaba is there, situating herself on one of the armrests. “Hey,” she says. He stares back at her. “I know you probably think you don’t deserve to be happy, since you say it at least three times every time we meet up, so don’t think I’d just suddenly forget about it.”

“Thank you for reminding me,” he cuts in dryly.

“But, well, I guess what I’m trying to say is… you deserve a second chance. What was it that I said to you back then, in the engine room?”

“‘It doesn’t matter where you start over,’” he quotes. Not even the words from that time could be fully shaken from his head, and more often than not he finds himself rewinding, sifting through the memories in his head, repeating them to himself over, and over, and over.

“Right. That. And you _have_ started over! You pressed new game and made completely different decisions! Sometimes you’re still a pain in the ass, but over these five years I can really see how hard you’re trying for atonement and whatnot. I guess it became hard to ignore after a while.” She squeezes his shoulder reassuringly. “You made me give a shit about your efforts. I thought it was useless at first, but… I couldn’t stop myself from caring about you a little.”

Goro screws his eyes shut, counts to ten in his head to stop the inevitable tears. “I’m… sorry. You had to lecture me on obvious things again.”

“Hey, feels nice to not be the one lectured for once,” Futaba jokes. She scoots closer, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “You’ve shown me bits of your humanity. That, at least, I know is true. Even made me realize some things about myself…”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah,” Futaba admits, suddenly shy. She pulls her arm away, hugging her chest as she contemplates her next words. “Well… you forced me to look inside myself and see what my problem was, for one. I knew I didn’t want to continue spiraling down in isolation after defeating Yaldabaoth, and having you around sort of worsened that. But then I realized—well, I didn’t want to keep being shackled by the past. That didn’t end well for me the first time. And you probably felt the same about yourself, and I wanted to amend that. So…”

Goro lists his head, waits for her to continue. She bats his face away when he stares too long and hisses, “Don’t give me that look! Look, I just knew for sure that my future held a lot brighter things for me, and if I wanted to compensate for how I was before, I’d have to change the way I am now. When I applied that to you, suddenly tolerating you became a hell of a lot easier.”

“‘Tolerating’ me,” Goro parrots, but it isn’t in bitterness this time. He’s content, now, lighter than before, with the weight on his heart lifted and the lump in his throat expelled. Heart-to-hearts always have this effect on him, strangely enough. Or maybe not so strangely, because anyone would be touched by moments like this. He’s simply never had enough of them.

“That’s what I said, ‘tolerating’ you. You’re like a damn little kid sometimes. Anyways, you’re satisfied now, right? I can stop talking?”

“You can,” he agrees easily, and Futaba cheers in triumph. She leans forward, plants a kiss on his cheek, and Goro seizes up at the gesture.

“Wh-What—?”

“You’re crying,” she explains, licking her lips, and Goro runs a finger across his cheek and realizes that yes, he _is_ crying. He wipes up what few tears have escaped his eyes and picks back up his curry, cold once more from neglect. It’s thankfully a convenient excuse to leave the living room and let his tears flow in front of the microwave, away from Futaba’s prying eyes.

His fingers shake so bad he nearly drops his plate of curry.

“Sojiro’ll get mad if you make a mess,” Futaba yells from the living room, and Goro squeaks, caught red-handed.


	6. haru

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haru's character is incredibly hard to pinpoint in regards to goro akechi, so i took a lot of liberties here. their relationship is a tough one because so many people have varying views about how it would play it out. hopefully, i wrote it in a way that made sense; i wanted to incorporate what little we do know of haru's character, and that would be her capacity for kindness, yet critical mind and slight tendency towards violence.
> 
> please comment/kudos if you enjoyed!

For years, Goro has made it his responsibility to distance himself from Haru Okumura. She needs her grief, he remembers thinking, and surely his presence would do little else but rub salt in the wound. With the turmoil of Mementos and Yaldabaoth out of the way, the Thieves had more space to reflect—to recuperate—to reconcile. Goro had zero doubts of what this meant. Haru had to be sickened by him, he knew it for sure; there was no way that, even after everything, she wouldn’t remember his crimes and shudder with horror at it.

The same went for everyone else, of course, but there was no avoiding the truth behind Kunikazu Okumura’s murder. Haru owed nothing to Goro. Goro, consequently, should have never expected compassion from her. It went on in this fashion for a year or so before things changed, and Goro was caught in the tidal wave of Haru’s insistent affability.

He doesn’t understand it, not even five years later. But five years is long enough that ghosts of the past start to fade with age, and everything becomes reborn, reinvigorated, like the seeds of a dead tree blooming into new life. He won’t say that things are completely changed, because old scars rarely ever vanish. They become reminders of a distant past where the wound was still fresh and debilitating to the body, the mind, the soul, and serve to warn the wearer that this could happen again, and it may end things for good.

Haru gets that look whenever she sees Akechi. It’s as if she’s spotted an old scar, saw it taunting her in the mirror and winced at the usually forgotten mark. Regardless, she continues dutifully with her pleasantries: “how are you,” and “what have you been up to,” and “did you hear about that case Mako-chan won the other day, and how Ann has traveled to Germany for a modelling gig, and oh, yes, Ryuji just started substituting for the gym teacher at Shujin—”

They all feel suspiciously like distractions. Goro allows her to do as she wishes, though he suspects that not even _she_ has an idea of what that may be. At one point he broaches the topic with her and all he receives in response is: “It’s hard for me, too, you know?”

He has no idea what she means. He rarely does. Since he doesn’t expect to understand it further if he asks, he never tries.

He knows how it feels; as the Detective Prince, he’d deflect or lie about all personal questions flung in his direction. For Haru, she conceals her wounds expertly, masking them by directing attention away instead of covering them up. Goro knows prevarication when he sees it, but unlike her, he has always been the type to sugarcoat things—he could never seem to repel attention once he received it. Always in the spotlight, fans hot on his trail, lurking in wait for the moment where he fucked up, revealed something he shouldn’t.

Perhaps it’s that habit which helps him slip under the noses of the Thieves. Unfortunately, with someone as adept as Haru in sensing broken things, he is all but transparent in her eyes, a prettified doll which, once put on its feet, could not muster the strength to stand on its own.

“Akechi-kun,” she murmurs the moment he enters Leblanc. “What happened?”

Goro stops at the doorway. Then, recovering, he waves her off. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’re hurt,” she continues, gaze then flitting to Ren standing behind the counter. “Do you have a first-aid kit? Perhaps we could…”

“I’m not hurt,” Goro argues hollowly, but Haru is already dragging him upstairs to the attic where the first-aid kit should be. He lets her call the shots, because appeasing her is his next priority when he cannot wring himself out of her iron grip. Together they stumble towards the mattress, Haru depositing Goro on the bed and fluttering around in search of the first-aid kit, and he watches her steadily, curiously, searching for the crack in her armor.

“Take off your coat,” she demands, and he obeys lazily. She regards his unremoved gloves with distaste, but doesn’t say anything, allowing him to keep them on as she settles beside him. Her hands are nothing but gentle as they roll up the cuffs of his sleeves, reveal a cluster of bruises that continue even beneath his shirt. She gives him a look; words aren’t necessary for this. Petulantly, he begins to undo his tie and unbutton his collar.

“I have a feeling there are some you aren’t showing me,” she tuts, removing the antiseptic and bandages from the kit. “Mona, could you get us some ice?”

It’s only then that Goro notices the cat sitting at the top of the steps, tail flicking back and forth nervously as he observes the two’s exchange. He yelps upon being sighted and darts away to comply with Haru’s orders.

Sighing, Haru gestures for Goro to finish undressing, and Goro slides off his shirt to unmask the dark, ugly bruises and scars dotting the skin along Goro’s shoulders and down the expanse of his chest. Haru’s features twist into a grimace.

“Akechi-kun… you let yourself go untreated for this long?”

“Don't get me wrong. I was busy escaping the thugs that jumped me. I would have gone to the clinic eventually,” he mumbles, because under Haru’s unyielding gaze, he feels very much like a child being reprimanded by his mother. Haru clicks her tongue.

“I don’t like it when you hurt yourself like this.”

“I find that hard to believe.” Goro bites his lip as the first swab of antiseptic touches the scar on his rib. At his remark, Haru presses harder into the wound, eliciting a squeak from the former detective. She huffs.

“You’re making me out to be the villain again,” she murmurs, and that prompts a fresh wave of guilt in Goro’s chest. Angrily, he stamps it down, pointedly turning his face away.

“It’s the truth. I don’t believe there isn’t at least a tinge of satisfaction at seeing me beat down, reduced to nothing but a helpless beggar.”

Haru pauses, pulling her hand away and placing it on her lap. “Perhaps I do enjoy guilting you a little. However, it’s never my desire to. I don’t want to continue feeding this bitter, horrendous feeling budding inside of me. You understand, don’t you?” With that, she continues her ministrations along his chest, no longer attempting to speak.

Goro keeps his face turned to the side. He doesn’t want to smell the roses in her hair, see the concentration her eyes, attentive and cautious, or look at her hands, her gentle, gentle hands. Everything she does is so gentle, so unfaltering, so _naive_. It picks away at his composure. This is the last thing he deserves—this sort of treatment, from Haru, from all people. She must be taunting him. _Daring_ him to object. She wants to catch him off-guard, surprise him—

Or perhaps the one she wants to surprise is herself.

“So stubborn,” Akechi mutters under his breath, and Haru’s fingers cease their movements along his collarbone. “What purpose do you have in helping me, healing me? Does it heal you as well? Or were you merely trying to impress Ren down there, show him that you’ve moved on?”

Haru recognizes the attempt to provoke her, and she doesn’t rise to it. She offers him a soft smile and brushes the pad of antiseptic one of the cuts on his shoulder. “For the record, Akechi-kun, even if you want to prove that you’re insufferable, it’s not working. I have a stronger heart than you realize.”

He doesn’t answer, finally sliding his gaze towards her. She is focused intently on her task, no longer smiling, her hands slowing their motions. “You see,” she whispers, briefly making eye contact, “if you really must know, it used to be like that. I had felt left out, being the only one unwilling to sit around you. I suppose I wanted proof that my resilience could outdo my grief. Of course, it’s never that easy, is it?” She places a bandaid over one of the cuts, slow, tender. “I learned that the hard way. But I couldn’t simply forget about you. That felt too wrong.”

“You shouldn’t feel obligated to remember me,” Goro says, breath catching as her fingertips ghost over one of his bruises. Some days, he doesn’t want to remember himself, either.

“It wasn’t obligation, Akechi-kun. Purely my conscience. It felt too much like abandoning an injured animal, and despite who you were, there was nothing I could do to ignore your cries for attention. And so I forced myself to check up on you.” Another bandaid, this one over his bicep. “God, I hated myself for it. At the same time I felt like I was betraying my father. But, no, this wasn’t me dismissing your crimes. I suppose… I was coming to terms with it.”

Goro raises a brow, his muscles twitching at the barely-there touch. “That’s a bit convoluted, isn’t it?” he breathes, and she smiles sadly.

“Most things are. I could never hope to understand the wicked ways of the heart.”

Their conversation ends there. Haru finishes up her duty, taking an ice pack from between the arriving Mona’s teeth (how did he even manage to carry it without screaming in agony?) and instructing Goro to place it against the worst of his bruises. He presses it against his stomach, watching Haru put everything back into place. All of a sudden, he feels sick.

She… really is strong. Stronger than himself, for surpassing the expectations she set for herself and working past her emotional turmoil. He always wallows in it, lets it control his life, and he can’t help but admire Haru’s much more active approach to transformation and healing. How easier life would be if he had just had her mindset.

“Just to be clear, I don’t know if things can ever be normal between us,” Haru admits, her voice thick with uncertainty. “There’s too much that comes to mind when I see you. Things that trigger my ire, stop me from speaking earnestly to you. Though, with how the ice has melted over these past five years, I can’t say that mending the fracture in our bond is impossible. It simply requires work, and lots of rehabilitation. On both of our parts.”

Slowly, Goro nods in assent. “I won’t cause too much trouble for you, if that's any consolation.”

“How sweet.” Haru grins, but there’s a hint of amusement behind her tone, like she doesn’t fully believe him. She leans forward and brushes the bangs away from his face, eyes widening when she sees the cut that had been hiding beneath them.

“Akechi-kun,” she says, prodding at it, “why didn’t you mention this one to me?”

“Ah… it’s already closing up,” Goro answers hastily, just the slightest hint of embarrassment coloring his cheeks. Haru furrows her brows, but she refrains from rebuking him. She tilts her head up to brush a kiss against it, just a ghost of a thing, but enough that Goro’s entire face flushes bright red, heart pounding wildly as he registers what just happened.

“There.” She pulls away smiling. “To speed up the healing process.”

“T-To speed up the… ?”

“That’s a common belief, isn’t it?” Haru says, and Goro hesitates. Sure, though it’s only something young children believe in when their mothers claim to “kiss the pain away” and peck their child’s injuries. For Haru to think such a thing…

“You see too much of the good in this world,” he murmurs, not saying what he actually means. He goes on, wanting to mask his mortification, “Trapped in ideals, grappling for reasons to accept me… you’re too naive, and that may be your downfall.”

“ _You_ simply underestimate the power of hope,” Haru retorts, flicking his forehead thereafter, washing away the effects of her kiss. Goro stammers, touching the spot where she’d hit indignantly, and she smiles sweetly before lifting herself off the bed and trotting toward the stairs. “Don’t forget, Akechi-kun. There are powerful things in this world that are not physical, and if you harness it, that may be your biggest strength of all.” With one final wink and a wave, she descends the staircase, leaving him to stew in her words.


	7. ren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back to the fluff i guess !!!! hope you liked the conclusions guys, don't forget to kudos/comment~

Ren is so quiet that Goro barely hears him approaching. The only warning he gets is a pat on the shoulder, a quiet, amused breath, and he starts, turning on his heel to face Ren Amamiya.

“Ren,” he stammers, ignoring the heartbeat leaping in his chest.

“Goro,” Ren responds in kind, returning his hand to his side. “Happy birthday.”

Smiling nervously, Goro ducks his head in a half-bow, refusing to lift his gaze from the floor. In that space of time his eyes have snagged on the metallic object glinting in Ren’s hand—a pair of scissors, thin, sharp as anything. He arches a brow.

“And what is that you’re holding?”

“Oh, this?” Ren raises the scissors, makes a single snipping motion in the air as he waves them around. “Your birthday present.”

“Are you going to stab me with it?”

Ren chuckles, shaking his head with irritated fondness. “No, I’m going to cut your hair. Come upstairs.” He jerks his head towards the attic, and, feeling helpless and confused all at once, Goro can do nothing but follow.

On the way up, Goro is given at least five opportunities to bail. But he’s far too overwhelmed by curiosity and expectation to deny Ren, so he listens to him obediently, shedding his coat and sitting on the chair situated at the center of the room to patiently await instruction. Ren moves around, gathering his things, then positions himself behind Goro.

“So all this time you’ve been waiting to shear half my hair off,” Goro muses dryly, his words nothing less than humorless. He had always known his style was atrocious, but five years without taming his hair have allowed it to grow to obnoxious lengths, even to the point of falling past his shoulders. He admits that it’s more of an inconvenience than anything; drying it takes longer, tangles frequently pop up out of nowhere, and the _heat—_

“That’s not it, okay?” Ren bites back a laugh. “I just notice how much it bothers you. God, you’re really sweating under here, too,” he comments, brushing the hair at the back of Goro’s neck. Goro shivers at the contact, keeping his fists clenched over his lap.

“Your eyes never seem to miss anything, do they? Yes, it is a bit of a hassle to maintain. Although I never imagined I’d receive a haircut as a gift…”

Ren snorts at that, though he provides no further input; he drapes a towel around Goro’s shoulders and gets to work. Cool metal caresses Goro’s nape as Ren snips away at his locks, the featherlight brush of falling hairs tickling his neck, and Goro can’t hold back the small shudder that courses through him. Ren is confident, no hesitation in his movements, and Goro marvels at how precise and fluid his handiwork is even in such weather.

“Did you pick up this skill from some unsuspecting hairstylist in the depths of Tokyo?” Goro remarks, unwilling to reveal just how affected he is by Ren’s touch. Ren blows air through his nose.

“Something like that.”

“Hmm. How very like you.” Goro smirks, remembering Ren’s spontaneous proficiencies in shogi, lockpick crafting, massages, things of that ilk.

Inevitably, silence reigns again. Goro can sense Ren’s concentration, his deliberate avoidance of placing the blade too close to Goro’s neck in fear of accidentally nicking fair skin. Even so, Goro feels no terror being in this position; he long ago abandoned the notion that any of the Thieves were out to hurt him, least of all Ren, and knowing this helps him sink further into comfort. He almost lets out a pleased sigh, absorbing the brief, insistent touches of Ren’s fingers against his skin, the periodic tugging of the scissors against his hair.

“You let it grow so thick,” Ren notes with awe, twirling one of the strands of honey-brown between his fingertips. “No wonder you sweat so easily. I bet you have the worst bedhead in the morning.”

“You must think about it a lot.” Goro’s snark earns him a particularly harsh tug on his hair, and he yelps, gritting his teeth in order to prevent himself from whipping around and exacting his revenge on Ren’s own head of curly locks.

“So cheeky. When did you get so bold?” Ren is as mocking as ever. Goro scoffs.

“Perhaps I was always this bold, and you simply failed to acknowledge it.”

“Huh.” Even without seeing him, Goro can tell he’s smirking, his movements more pointed now. “Okay, Goro. Surprise me then.”

Goro shakes his head, an action which Ren quickly rectifies by directing his face forward. He receives a hurried “don’t move” from Ren, colored slightly with panic, and Goro sighs, leaning back to give Ren better access. “Hmm, perhaps I will surprise you. However, complying now would defeat the purpose; it has to be when you least expect it, when you’ve forgotten about our challenge. Then I will catch you off-guard.”

“You sound like one of those villains monologuing his diabolical plans,” Ren jokes. He reaches past Goro’s shoulder to hold his chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning it gently to the side. Goro fights back a blush as Ren trims the flowing hairs there. “I would’ve thought you’d know by now that revealing your intentions only works against your favor.”

At that, Goro swallows. He knows all too well the schemes of a villain. He doesn’t indulge that thought though, instead sinking into the repetitive but soothing motions of Ren’s hands. He listens to the faint chatter beneath the attic, Ren’s soft, distracted humming, the rhythmic snips of the scissors. Like this, it’s easy to pretend that he’s not part of a moving world—a world where people are constantly taking calls, flagging down taxis, swiping up their coffees and scratching their pencils against a worn-out notebook. He’s in a moment of stillness, of respite, of deliberation. A moment he shares with Ren and with Ren alone.

Nevertheless, time flies quicker than he expects; Ren is already nearing the end of his task, gliding a comb through Goro’s silky locks of hair. Goro nearly purrs at the sensation, tilting his head back for more contact, and Ren laughs under his breath. It’s an embarrassed laugh, nothing like his normally quiet and nonchalant mirth.

“You like that?” he murmurs, combing more indulgently now. Goro swallows down a pleased sigh. Despite his best efforts, he can’t help but lean up toward the consistent and gratifying movements, his teeth digging into his bottom lip to prevent a noise of delight from leaving his throat. Ren squeezes his shoulder, setting the comb down.

“I'm almost done. I just need to take care of your fringe and even out the back a little, is that okay?” He waits for Goro to nod before rounding the chair, settling between his legs. “Okay, good. Don’t fidget too much or I might accidentally slice open your face.”

Goro’s pulse quickens as Ren leans down, their faces nearly touching, and they’re close enough that Goro can feel Ren’s breath ghosting over his cheeks, warm and smelling faintly of mint. He shuts his eyes tight, refusing to look at the man in front of him. At the very least, Ren doesn’t seem to mind—he’s far too focused on his work to notice his expression at all, lifting Goro’s bangs and trimming along the unruly hairs.

“Wow, Goro, you’re so tense. It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m adept with blades.”

 _That’s not my concern,_ Goro thinks miserably, his face blooming with red. Hearing Ren so close by is doing villainous things to his heart, and he can’t form coherent thoughts, his senses overloaded by Ren’s imposing presence. He resists the urge to react to the smooth fingers grazing his cheek, Ren’s low, butter-like voice swimming in the air around them, the warmth of his breath hitting his face—

“Done.” Ren steps back, and Goro inhales a furtive gulp of air.

When he finally opens his eyes, one after the other, Ren is regarding him with a smile, arms folded loosely across his chest. “Look at you,” he coos, though makes no indication to further his statement. He returns to his initial spot behind Goro and brushes absently at his hair with four of his fingers. “I like to think I did a pretty good job. Not so heavy now, huh?”

Goro certainly registers the lightness to his head without his previous mane to weigh it down, but if anything, it’s a fleeting thought. Mostly he’s fixated on Ren’s hand carding through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp, and he lets out an involuntary whine at the feeling.

“Ah,” Ren says, not expecting it. There’s a pause where neither of them say anything, Goro too flushed with mortification and Ren standing still with surprise, but Ren recovers quickly: “So the great Goro Akechi likes to have his hair played with. I’ll keep that in mind for the future.”

“Shut up,” Goro growls, but the threat is gone from his voice. He’s soaking in the attention Ren lavishes him with, bolder now that there’s nothing to hide, and Ren pets his crown before pulling his hand away, reluctant like he’s fighting against a magnetic pull.

“Pick up the mirror on the ground,” Ren's voice is just this side of shaky. “Tell me if you like it or not.”

Goro hesitates, because if he doesn’t end up liking it, he’ll be stuck with the disillusionment for months. Years, even. But he trusts Ren—and that’s a strange sentiment to hear, even in his own thoughts—and with newfound determination, he raises the hand mirror to his face, peering at the reflection on the other side.

And what he sees…

This… can’t be him. No, he looks too youthful, too lively. His hair frames his face delicately, accentuating his boyish charm, and he reaches behind him to finger at the short hairs curling at the back of his neck. It’s all too much, witnessing this transformation. All of a sudden, panic seizes him—he doesn’t know if he’s ready for a new start, a new face, a reason to become someone else with entirely different motivations—but Ren’s face is proud above his reflection, and Goro gulps, lowering the mirror finally.

“I feel unusual,” is all he can provide in answer, and Ren chuckles.

“A good unusual?” He cocks his head to the side.

Goro worries his lip. “It may be a bit too early to decide that.”

“Well,” Ren says, huffing, “I like it. And I’m sure the others will, too.”

Goro thinks about what Ann would say, what Ryuji would, what Yusuke would, what the rest of them would. And then his shoulders are trembling, his breathing coming in sharp, his lip wobbling. He can feel the oncoming wave of tears, but with breakneck speed Goro pushes it back; he doesn’t want Ren to see, to realize the depth of this arrangement to Goro, how desperate he is to change, how even small things like haircuts quickly become life or death situations to him.

“Thank you,” Goro says instead. His voice is watery, though no tears make an appearance. Over time he has learned to keep them at bay, and it has become a useful tool in the present. Ren is no fool, though—rather, he isn’t the _biggest_ fool, and he rubs Goro’s shoulders comfortingly, without judgement. Goro takes in a shaky breath.

“Of course, anything for you.” Ren tightens his grip on his shoulders. All of a sudden, he leans his head down. Nuzzles the back of Goro’s neck. Goro stiffens, his stomach flipping at the feeling, and then there is the hot press of lips against Goro’s exposed nape.

“R-Ren…” He gasps, fingers flying up to clutch at Ren’s hands. Ren smirks against his skin, planting another tender kiss on the spot beneath his ear.

“Sorry. Couldn’t help myself.”

He pulls away, seeming satisfied with just that, but Goro is unwilling to let it end there. He catches Ren’s wrist, turning to gaze pleadingly at him. Ren’s breath gets stuck in his throat. He entwines their fingers together and moves in again, bumping their noses together.

“Surprising me again,” Ren breathes, “with how cute you are, are you?”

“You mean I was never this cute?” Goro flutters his lashes.

“Shut up.”

Goro makes good on that demand, capturing Ren’s lips in his, squeezing his hand as he presses forward. Ren tilts their heads so that the kiss deepens, and suddenly Ren is twining his fingers through Goro’s hair, caressing it almost reverently, without urgency. Goro sighs against him, takes his lower lip between his teeth and sucks. Ren’s throat rumbles with a satisfied groan.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, cupping his cheek fondly, and Goro’s eyes slip shut. He parts his lips again, asking wordlessly for more, and Ren laughs. He dives in and pulls Goro closer with an insistent hand on his neck. His tongue darts in, fingers tugging at his hair eagerly, and Goro can’t help but take it all with unadulterated greed, the warmth, the wetness, the long-faded taste of spearmint gum. He tangles his hands in Ren’s curls and with that fuzzy feeling taking over, threading them together and overpowering their senses, Goro loses himself in Ren, back in a world which doesn't move and doesn't demand anything of him.

It drags on long enough that the curtain falls around them, no more acts, no more extravagance. He shows himself to Ren in a way he'd never show anyone else. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHH IT'S DONE thank you everyone who has been following this fic and leaving comments! it's been such an interesting experience writing this series and i hope you got something good from it too :0

**Author's Note:**

> i personally hc goro as gay so his interactions with the boys are very obviously romantic, but for the girls, you are welcome to see it as however you want! i tried not to be toooo biased on that front... but i dunno skfjdjkfsdf
> 
> the chapters are going to update everyday leading up to goro's birthday, so look forward to it!
> 
> find me on twitter: @nonnecheri


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